Token of Affection
by Aurora Borealia
Summary: What do two men who are in love with each other and trying to hide it do on Valentine's Day? Exchange gifts of course! Slight fluff and obvious JohnLock slash follow. Yet another holidayfic from AB, I can't seem to stop them. Rated T because I'm paranoid.


**_Hello all! Okay, so normally, I hate Valentine's Day. I find it a useless, Halmark holiday in which people are suppose to feel bad about not being in a relationship. However, I like anything that gives me a chance to write the JohnLock pairing and so I gave this a whirl. It's a little silly, I will admit, kind of like my Christmas one, but I hope you enjoy anyway. I swear I have some sort of holiday fanfic disease. Someone stop me, haha! :) Oh well, enjoy! I apologize in advanced for any fluff or slight OOC-ness. Please R&R! - AB_**

"Token of Affection" - A Sherlock Fanfiction for Valentine's Day

If you give someone a present, especially a heartfelt one, during Valentine's Day, they are usually going to believe that you love them. It's just one of those things. For two people completely in love with each other and pretending they are not, it can either be an opportune moment or agony. For Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, it was suppose to be another day. That went out the window fast.

As far as the outside world was _suppose_ to know, Sherlock and John were two completely heterosexual men. As far as the outside world _did_ know, that was bunk. Neither one of them knew the other one was in love. They may have been the only ones who didn't know. It was just a matter of time until they found out themselves, so everyone else just waited. But after a while, people got tired of waiting. Something had to be done.

What do two men who are in love with each other and trying to hide it do on Valentine's Day? Exchange gifts, of course! Well, neither one of the men had intended it to start out like that. Giving each other gifts on February fourteenth was something they thought of in passing, in dizzy daydreams, half-baked fantasies and fleeting ideas in the shower. But that was it. They had never intended to take it any further than that.

John and Sherlock simply had the ideas. It was something else that had the follow through, and like always, that follow through was called Harry and Mycroft. Siblings always know their younger brothers thoughts, even when said younger brothers don't mention them. Harry and Mycroft had never even spoken, just knew of each other's existence through their own respective siblings, but they say great minds think alike. And the two great minds came to the conclusion all by themselves.

It wasn't exactly the conversation John expected to have with Harry when he picked up the telephone to call her. After all, "what are you getting your flat mate for Valentine's Day?" is not really something you expect to discuss with your sister.

It was a week before Valentine's Day, must have been a Monday. Sherlock was off doing…Sherlock stuff, stuff that John didn't even bother to ask about because he figured usually it was better he didn't know. Eventually, there was only so long one could type into the blog, "Great day, no Sherlock, kinda cloudy out" before it got _supremely _boring. So, John sat back in his chair with a cup of tea and tried to think of something more interesting to do. Then it hit him to call Harry.

John and Harry hadn't been on speaking terms as of late, but after he met Sherlock he had kind of become convinced that shunning her for leaving Clara was childish and it was counterproductive not to offer her support for her alcohol addiction. Therefore, John has taken the first step to trying to get back on the right foot with Harry and they now tried to call each other at least once a week.

John picked up the phone and dialed Harry's number from memory, waiting as it rang. He hoped she hadn't gone out. After four or five rings, she finally picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hullo, Harriet." John said cheerfully.

On the other side of the phone, his sister smirked.

"Why hello there, Johnny. Glad you called. So what's up?"

"I wanted to say 'hi' and I'm impossibly bored."

"You sound like that flat mate of yours." Harry teased, "Where is he anyway?"

John glanced at the phone,

"How'd you know he was out?" he asked, surprised by his sister's deduction.

"Johnny, you've told me the man shoots up walls for fun. You couldn't possibly be bored if he was around, so he must be out. Where'd he go?"

A best friend _and_ a sister deducing things on him now? John shook his head slightly with disbelief.

"Brilliant! Well, anyway, I dunno where he went off to. Probably a case of some sorts, it's usually better I don't ask."

"Well, whilst he's away, we should go out and get a drink or something. Or rather, you get a drink and I'll sit with my elbows on the bar, sighing longingly as you drink it."

John snickered, "Sounds fun."

"For who?" Harry asked, laughing with incredulity.

"Me." John replied cheekily, "When and where?"

"Downtown somewhere and now is okay if you want to go now. I have a few things I have to pick up before Valentine's Day."

"Valentine's Day?" John repeated in disbelief. He knew Harry didn't have another girlfriend and was wondering what on earth she could possible need considering that fact, "What are you planning on doing that day?"

"I'm sending myself flowers and doing absolutely nothing but eating chocolate all day. What else would I be doing? What are your plans, Johnny? Got any?"

"Not a thing. I'm not big on Valentine's Day really."

"I see," she said, and had John been able to see Harry through the phone, he would have seen her smirk again, "What are you getting that flat mate of your's?"

John didn't understand what she meant at first,

"For what?" he asked.

"For Valentine's Day, of course! What are you getting him?"

"Harry, it's a romantic holiday!" John cried.

"Oh, Johnny, come off it! You pretend like I don't know!"

John broke out into a cold sweat.

"You _know_?" he demanded.

"_Everyone_ knows." she replied, and John rolled his eyes.

Clearly he was doing a terrible job hiding it.

"Besides," Harry was plowing ahead as John non-verbally chastised himself, "I'm your sister. It's my job to know."

Well, thanks." John replied coldly, "And to answer your question, nothing. I'm not getting Sherlock anything."

"Johnny!" Harry's voice raised in gentle reproach, "How can you not? It's V-Day, the lover's holiday! It's the time for romantic gestures! Is there something he really needs?"

Strangely, something popped into John's head, a gift idea he had though of as maybe a Christmas gift. But now that Harry had mentioned it (and tapped into a very hidden thought John had been having lately), it seemed like a good idea to give it now.

"Yes," John replied slowly as he thought, "a pocket watch."

Okay, so maybe a pocket watch wasn't the most romantic gift to give someone, but Sherlock was definitely in need of one. Sherlock had a tendency to not wear watches, for if he did, they were usually broken. Or, better yet, Sherlock wore his watch much higher on his wrist than John did and therefore didn't like trying to roll up his coat sleeve to check the time.

In fact, his current method of checking the time was John. It could be when they were sitting, standing or walking, it didn't matter. When Sherlock needed a "time check", he simply grabbed John's wrist and pulled John's watch up to eye level. Even when he wasn't anywhere near John, Sherlock would text him to find out what time it was. John's inbox was littered with conversations that went:

"_Time check, John. - SH"_

"_Sherlock, it's on the phone! The time is right on your phone!"_

"…_Time check. - SH"_

It was usually alright with John that he was Sherlock's watch, albeit it was a little bit embarrassing in public. However, it was finally one day in a small café that John had been given his idea. Sherlock decided to do a time check as John was in the middle of drinking a cup of coffee (still half full) using his "time check" hand. So much for drinking the rest of it, considering the contents went splashing all of the floor as Sherlock jerked his hand up. Sherlock released his hand a second later, completely oblivious to anything wrong. John had learned not to complain, he simply sighed slightly and rolled his eyes.

It was here he decided Sherlock needed a watch.

"A pocket watch." Harry said, slicing through John's thoughts, "I like it. Practical, yet tailored just for him."

"Yeah," John answered, becoming strangely engrossed in the idea, "and I know just the little shop to get it at downtown! Their watches are golden, beautiful stuff, really, and you can get them engraved and everything. Not too expensive either…"

"Oh, Johnny! This is very romantic!" Harry cooed, "See, aren't you glad you called me?"

"Harriet Watson, you are a genius!" John smiled.

"I know, Johnny, I know. See you in a few?"

"Absolutely! Bye, Harry."

"Bye, Johnny. I expect to see that pocket watch when you meet me at the bar!"

Contrary to John's belief, Sherlock was not out solving a case. He was simply off to visit his brother, Mycroft. The thing with Mycroft, however, was that the busybody was never in one set location; he was always flitting off somewhere to do some sort of business and pry. Sherlock figured if he walked for a while, he would eventually find him and he didn't particularly mind the walking anyway. He was currently in the process of thinking about something important and the air cleared his mind.

And eventually, his theory was proved correct as he walked down the windy street, his hands in his pocket. He looked to his right out of the corner of his eyes and saw Mycroft's standard black taxi pull up at the curb. He stopped walking and turned to face it, his brother opening the door to peer out.

"Looking for me?" he asked Sherlock coyly with a smile.

"I knew I'd find you eventually." Sherlock muttered, "May I get in?"

Mycroft nodded slightly and ushered Sherlock into the cab with his umbrella. As he scooted in, he noted slightly that the girl referred to as "Anthea" was not around.

"Give your lackey the day off, Mycroft?" he asked shortly.

Mycroft cocked his head slightly before picking up on the hint.

"What, Anthea? My lackey? Goodness, no! And I didn't give her the day off, just told her to take a bit of a walk. Thought you and I could have a little chat."

"Yes, what did you want?"

"What ever do you mean?" "You called me." Sherlock replied, "It didn't sound urgent, but if it was trivial, you wouldn't have called. So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Maybe a taxi isn't the best place to talk about this. Perhaps we should go somewhere more private? How about 221B?"

"Well, John'll be home unless he got bored and decided to go out. He probably called his sister."

"Yes," Mycroft said, glancing at his notepad, "He and Harry went out a little while ago to a pub downtown called 'The Victoria Regina' so they should be gone for awhile."

"Well then, my flat sounds fine to me." Sherlock said briskly.

"My thoughts precisely." Mycroft said cheekily.

Sherlock's nose wrinkled slightly as Mycroft gave the cabbie the address. He had no idea what Mycroft wanted, but the sooner Mycroft spilled it the better.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the two sparring brothers had taken up their opposite spots in front of the fireplace, Sherlock armed with his violin bow and Mycroft swinging his umbrella loosely. Sherlock gave his head a tiny scratch with the bow and frowned, eyeing Mycroft suspiciously.

"So you wanted to talk. What's this about?"

"Your well being." Mycroft replied in a withheld manner.

"My well being." Sherlock repeated doubtfully, "How so?"

"Well, your well being and your relationships I suppose."

Out of fear of sounding redundant, Sherlock bit back the impulse to spit the words back at Mycroft. He was Sherlock Holmes. He didn't have relationships.

"I'm a sociopath, Mycroft. I don't have relationships."

Mycroft smirked.

"Oh, Sherlock, yes you do. Don't be so droll."

"No I don't."

Ignoring him, Mycroft continued on.

"Anyway, one of the most important holidays any relationship can withstand is coming up and I think it's my duty as a public servant _and _your older brother to inform you of such and get you going."

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you getting John anything for Valentine's Day?"

Sherlock blinked for several seconds as though he had something in his eyes.

"Sorry, am I _what_?"

"Are you getting Dr. Watson anything for Valentine's Day? I'm only asking for your welfare, really. I feel you won't get anywhere with him if you don't extend the olive branch, so to speak. Show him you care."

"So you know?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft cocked his head to the side and gave Sherlock an "Oh, please" look.

"The whole of London knows." he quipped, "And it's obvious he reciprocates your feelings, but you'll never draw them out if you don't take the first step."

Sherlock's head was reeling. _What? _John felt the same way about him? And how did Mycroft know about this anyway? Maybe other people were rubbish at hiding their feelings, but he was Sherlock. He was different. Emotions weren't his thing.

"I hadn't thought of it more than…casually. But now that you mention it, I have been thinking of it a bit recently."

"How recently?" Mycroft pried.

"I was just thinking about it a bit before you picked me up." Sherlock admitted, "And I've thought for days. I honestly can't think of anything."

"You're a consulting detective, or whatever it is you call yourself, can't you pry a bit?" Mycroft asked.

"Mycroft, it's not like I'm not trying!" Sherlock objected, pounding his violin bow against the floor, "The man is impossible to buy for! He never says he wants anything."

"Is there anything he needs?"

"I wouldn't know. Most of the rubbish in the flat is mine, he barely brought anything when he moved in. All he has at home is his coat, some clothes, his gun, the old cane, his military uni-" Sherlock cut off suddenly.

"What?" Mycroft asked as Sherlock's eyes stretched wide in that look he got whenever he had a breakthrough.

"I've got it! John's a soldier and he values his service more than almost anything. His military stuff is so important to him, yet it's scattered all around, never being seen anywhere."

"Sherlock, I don't see what you're getting at."

Sherlock smiled at his genius and explained his idea.

After a few moments, Mycroft smiled.

"Well, I fear saying this may inflate your ego, but I do believe that is brilliant."

"Yes, precisely. But the only problem is how to get it done…"

Sherlock laced his fingers together, twitching them slightly as he thought. Mycroft too, seemed to be trying to riddle the problem out, his umbrella tapping dulling against the chair. After a few moments, he cocked his head.

"What about that fellow, Smith? The one you saved from the jail sentence abroad? He's just opened up a business uptown a little way. Maybe he can help."

Sherlock's eyes brightened slightly.

"Yes…yes! Smithy's a former soldier, I think he'd be happy to do the job. Plus he owes me a favour. I should get down there."

"Look at this," Mycroft smiled happily, "Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes actually working together for once. Mummy would be so proud of us."

"Please, we came up with a good idea. That doesn't mean we are working together and that certainly doesn't mean I _need _you." Sherlock said, leaping to his feet.

In one flourish, Sherlock threw on his coat and scarf.

"See yourself out." he called back, dashing out the door.

Mycroft chuckled slightly and didn't move from his seat as his brother's footsteps retreated down the stairs.

"He'll be back." Mycroft said, checking the tip of his umbrella with a grin.

A few seconds later, Sherlock's footfalls came back up the stairs in a bound. He swung back into the doorway as quickly as he had exited, glaring at Mycroft.

"I _don't _need you…but is there anyway you can give me a ride to the shop?"

Mycroft gave a cocky grin and got up from the chair.

"Mummy. Would be so proud. Of us." he repeated slowly.

"Oh, shut up! Just take me to the shop!" Sherlock complained.

And with that, the two Holmes brothers argued lightly all the way down the street.

Valentine's Day morning was cool and grey as most London mornings were. John woke up early on this particular Monday for the sole purpose of picking up Sherlock's watch from the shop downtown and he had never been so excited. And nervous. In the recent months, John had realized that Sherlock woke up everyday at 7:00 promptly. He never bothered to ask why, he just made sure not to trample on it. Luckily, the shop downtown opened at 6:30, so John got up at 6:00.

He debated leaving a note to let Sherlock know he'd be gone for a bit, but even if he lied about where he was going, Sherlock would figure it out in no time flat. Sherlock had a tendency to treat everyone he met as a suspect in a grandiose, unseen crime and John preferred not to leave anything that would incriminate him. Instead, he just showered and hurried off to the store at 6:35.

"Oh my sweet Lord, shut UP!"

Sherlock reached out from his spot in bed and slammed his alarm clock angrily at least four times. The alarm finally ceased with a final annoying beep. His internal hard drive clock (a.k.a - his brain) told him when it was seven o'clock, so he sure as hell didn't need an alarm. Mrs. Hudson thought she was being helpful when she set it for him and Sherlock didn't particularly know how to make it stop. After all, it wasn't his job to figure out how things worked. That was John's job.

Speaking of John…Sherlock was up and out of bed now in a cat-like leap, perching near the edge precariously. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and slide up the on-screen lock to confirm his suspicions. 7:00 A.M. Monday, February 14th. Valentine's Day, as he had suspected. Quickly, he did a web search for the shop where John's gift was. They had just opened about forty-five minutes ago, so Sherlock could easily dash out and pick the gift up.

There was only one little problem in getting John's gift and that was John. True, Sherlock could probably just run out the door without an explanation and John most likely wouldn't even question it. He had become very acclimated to Sherlock's strange behavior in the months. However, he didn't want to risk John questioning him anyway. If only there was a way to get John distracted so he could just slip out without being seen. Once he got out, John probably wouldn't give a damn about where he went.

And then the idea struck him: the annoying alarm clock. Sherlock smiled. As he said, it was John who knew had to work the stuff, not him. If he asked, John would most likely figure out how to turn it off. Moreover, if that didn't work, Sherlock would just find another way to get him out of the flat, he didn't care how. He'd tell him they were out of milk or fake a case or get him kidnapped by Mycroft again, he didn't care. Just as long as he could get off without John noticing, he didn't care how it was done. However, plan A seemed the most reasonable and beneficial in both ways. He really hated that alarm.

"John, I was awoken by this annoying alarm feature on the clock," he began, hurrying out of his room. His flat mate was usually getting up by this time and if not, he'd wake him up, "and I was figuring maybe you could…John?"

He realized as he walked into the living room that John wasn't there. A quick examination of John's bedroom established he wasn't there either.

"Hm." Sherlock said simply, looking around.

At present, Sherlock could think of at least thirty-seven logical reasons John was gone from the flat, but he didn't press further. He simply smiled and logged the most likely answer away in the back of his mind.

This actually was more convenient than any of Sherlock's other plans. With John out of the flat completely, he could just go and get the gift from the shop without a problem. Before leaving, however, he decided to check John wasn't coming back up the stairs. He opened the window and looked out on the London street outside, which was slowly beginning to crawl to life sleepily. John wasn't on the street below, so Sherlock closed the window and crossed the room, throwing open the door to check the hallway.

Suddenly and rather unexpectedly, his step was impeded by a fairly large cardboard box that had been placed gracefully on the doorstep. He picked it up to investigate and saw by the receipt stapled to the box that it was in fact John's gift. Sherlock didn't even need to guess who delivered it or how they knew it was ready, but one look at the package's reverse side confirmed his suspicions anyway. In black marker was the simple, tidy scrawl he knew well,

"Dear Sherlock. Admit it, you _need _me. - MH"

A smile played across Sherlock's lips as he held the box.

"_Alright fine,"_ he thought, _"I guess I do need you a little bit."_

But he sure wasn't about to admit that out loud.

Wishing he could thank Mycroft somehow, he glanced about the small, dim hallway and his eyes fell upon a security camera, very strategically angled at his flat's door. The thing was discrete in a way, nestled in between a fire alarm and a sprinkler head on the ceiling and one would not spy it unless looking.

"Thanks," he mouthed to the camera, "and I _still_ don'tneed you."

Feeling that was enough (considering Mycroft was most likely watching), Sherlock smiled cheekily and turned back to the flat, preparing to put John's present in a more presentable box.

Both flat mates, nervous as hell, were very happy with the way the gifts had turned out. Sherlock's gift to John had taken quite a bit of sneakiness and equal parts creativity. John's gift had taken a little more of an outside catalyst (as in, Harry), but just as much thought and a lot of effort. The stage was pretty much set and primed; all that was needed for the gentlemen to deliver.

It was 7:30 in the morning by the time John had picked up Sherlock's pocket watch and made it back to the flat. He had the thing wrapped in the most non-descript paper he could find (it was grey with no distinguishable pattern he could see. He figured Sherlock would like it) and put the small box carefully in his coat pocket.

The box was so much like what a ring or a necklace would be contained in that it felt as though John should be giving it to a wife or a sister. Not to his male flat mate, a man whom he was hoping could one day be a potential boyfriend. He could scarcely believe the thought was coming to him, but it secretly did. And it made him smile.

After a short while, John's taxi pulled up in front of 221B and John got out, his legs feeling simultaneously wobbly and heavy like lead. He tried to calm the strange, dull pounding in his chest (he identified it moments later as his heart) and worked to some degree to tame his wild nerves, climbing the stairs. With a final breath and a small smile, John opened the door to the flat and walked inside.

John was a little surprised at first to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa, sipping a cup of tea and reading the newspaper calmly. It was very uncommon for Sherlock to be sitting still let alone doing something so trivial as reading the newspaper. John cocked his head in confusion slightly as he walked a few steps more into the flat. Not looking up from this morning's copy of _Daily Mail, _Sherlock preceded to surprise John once more.

"Happy Valentine's Day." he said serenely, his voice low and gravely the way it was in the morning. For some reason, Sherlock's voice was always a slight bit lower and more honey-like when he had just woken up.

John's eyes flared wide in surprise.

"Happy Valentine's Day." he repeated in a tone to match his eyes.

"You sound shocked." Sherlock replied, putting the paper aside.

His voice was the only thing that suggested he had just awoken. Other than that, he looked very pulled together and formal, as he always did.

"I am. I didn't think you'd remember." John smiled.

"Please, John. I am not that diffident. I do still remember holidays. Even the sappy, over-played romantic ones."

John turned his head and laughed slightly, a smile playing across Sherlock's lips.

"I got you a gift." the two men both said suddenly, laughing again when they realized their situation.

"You got me a gift?" they asked again in unison and laughed once more.

"Stop that." John demanded lightly, "It's freaking me out. And yes, I did get you a gift. Happy V-Day."

He produced the small box from under his coat before throwing the garment over a nearby chair. As he handed the box to Sherlock, he saw a slight surprise there, the slightest flush of scarlet coloured his cheeks. The sudden revivification of colour to Sherlock's pallid cheeks was endearing, almost sweet, and John couldn't help but to chance a little grin.

Sherlock scanned John for several moments, as though this was the first time someone had ever given him a gift. He couldn't speak for a very long time.

"For me?" was all Sherlock had managed to utter after the brief time.

"Yeah, of course. That's what I meant when I said I got you a gift. Open it."

Slowly but surely, Sherlock's long fingers followed the edges of the wrapping paper and exposed the small black box. John's heart was thundering again as Sherlock pulled open the box and gasped.

Inside the box on a little lining of blue velvet sat the golden pocket watch, attached to a shiny chain with links made of an interwoven Celtic design. On the front among an ornate pattern, John had had an inscription made. It read in bold, clear letters, "Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective".

Sherlock carefully took the watch out and ran his fingers over the engraving, his lips curling into a tiny smile. He flipped it open to look at the watch's face, a stunningly virgin ivory with embossed black hands, set correctly to 7:41 AM. He held the device up to his ear and listen to it tick for several seconds, his eyes closed. He smiled again.

"Do you like it?" John said, beaming, even though he already knew the answer.

"John…I." Sherlock's eyes were almost misty with happiness, "I don't know what to say. I love it. No one has ever…ever given me a gift like this, thank you."

"You're welcome, Sherlock. That's why I'm your friend."

Sherlock closed his eyes and flushed scarlet once more before regaining composure. He tucked the watch proudly in his pocket.

"Now, I got you something as well." Sherlock said, pulling a small, flat gift from under the couch, "I don't know if you will like it at all, really. I'm terrible at this."

"Rubbish, I'm sure I'll love it." John reassured him as he took the present.

John was much quicker than Sherlock was in removing the wrappings from the gift, the paper Sherlock had picked out for him a deep navy blue colour. However, his reaction was similar, an unabashed gasp.

John was staring at an image of himself, a few years younger. It took him several seconds to realize what Sherlock had done. What he was holding in his hands was a memento of his military service mounted on a strong piece of wood and covered by a thin glass case. Prominently displayed on the left side of the framed and mounted composite, was John's official military picture. He was standing proudly in front of a grey background, his hair still in its short crew cut as he stood with a determined little smile in his uniform and gleaming dog tags.

Speaking of which, John had finally allowed his eyes to wander to the right of the picture to the rest of the items in the frame. Cleaned, pressed, immaculately restored and folded lay is uniform. It was slightly cattycornered against the edge of his picture and under it was spread his dog tags, two gleaming ovals of metal proclaiming "J. Watson" and other bits of identification he had long since not used but had never forgotten.

The last thing in the composite to behold were two small pictures at the top right and bottom right of the uniform. One was of him and his billet mates, leaning against one of their barriers to take a group photograph on the first day. The other photograph, the one at the top, was once again him in his uniform. He was standing in front of his parent's house with Harry, her arms wrapped around him as they both smiled, Mum and Dad with their hands on his shoulders.

"Sherlock…" was all he could say after all of it.

"I know, it's not the best gift out there. I just really didn't know what to…I mean, I thought maybe because you're so proud of your service…but even then, I don't-"

He never got a chance to finish his sentence, as John cut him off with a kiss, slow and long, right on his lips.

At first, Sherlock was surprised at the reaction, his eyes opened wide as John flung his arms around Sherlock's neck. But then he sighed and kissed John back. It took several seconds for the two to break apart and when they did, Sherlock was staring.

"I love everything about it. It is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me, Sherlock. Thank you so much." John replied breathlessly.

John pulled Sherlock's thin frame into his own body and tugged hard, giving him a hug. Sherlock hadn't really been hugged like this before, but he locked his arms behind John's back as though he had done it everyday of his life.

"Happy Valentine's Day, John Watson. I love you."

"Oh, Sherlock. I love you, too. Happy Valentine's Day."

It was Valentine's Day morning and London was crawling to life on this romantic day. As far as anyone else knew, 221B Baker Street was quiet and sleeping, but there were some who knew differently. The small complex was just as happy and romantic as any other household, its two guests sitting on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms and still looking at their gifts.

Harry lit John's phone up for the next hour, asking him if he had gone through with it, had Sherlock liked his gift? Inside somewhere, Mycroft swung his umbrella and smirked as he read the transcript of John and Sherlock's conversation. The instigators and their siblings were both remarkably happy on this Valentine's Day. Follow-through was a very good thing.

**_Ah, thank God for Harry and Mycroft! I hope everyone has a good Valentine's Day and I hope you all enjoyed. My most sincere apology to those currently reading my fic "Cripple"; writing this story has caused my other work to suffer a bit. Hopefully the next chapter will be up before the month is over. Thanks all and much love! - AB_**


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